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Personal Lyrics

Artist: Ice-T
Album: Power

Emcee's no time out it's time to rhyme outYou've dug your own grave now you must climb outDig out crawl out hide from the fallout'Cause when I get mad I go all outICE cooler than the coldest cube dudeAnd when I'm micin' boy I'm know to get rudeCriminal background it's time to get downI use a silencer don't like the loud soundOff my mic blast you better run fastThe last punk that popped junk passedSpit on his grave,laughed,jumped in my stretchSigned his bitch an autographSyndicate boy,I don't fool outYou're full grown,school's outYou try to diss?..I think you better cool out'Cause your butt is smoke,if we ever duel outThis jam is directed,to all of those who expectedFor me to cold be rejected,but now I'm highly respectedAnd now their ears are infectedWith dollar signs I've collectedJealous punks,I said it!

PersonalTake a personal

Take it personal,punk,I'm talkin' to youAnd if they agree with you,then your crew tooI never diss an emcee,I wish'em all good luckBut if you diss me to my face,duckMy style don't ramble,you shouldn't gambleWith your grill,I got a fist like an anvilI write a record,lock it on the topicEVIL and IZ dog the track,then we drop itRecord stores rock it,stock it,fans buy itPeople that never heard of ICE-T try itThen you try to diss? You got gallI got gold on my neck and gold on my wallGold in my fingers,gold in my earWhen this jam's spinnin',gold's what you hearToy,this ain't Christimas,no time to playI ain't no child,punk,you'll get sprayedIllin' on a mega-villanYou must want a pine box to go chill inBuried deep,creep,no one will weep'Cause the next night with your bitch I'll sleep

PersonalTake it personal

I ain't East Coast,West Coast,new style,or old styleYou wanna know about me? Check police filesGet out my face or you might have a bruised oneBrass knuckle prints? Yes,I used someI ain't here to boast,I don't do thatWhen I talk it's straight dope,pure factsI rock hard but still called a new jackBut talk shit,you're sure to get heard crackedI don't drink or smoke or do dumb drugsBut my posse's still labeled street thugsL.A.P.D's got all my boy's mugsCan't use my phone for the damn bugsI live in privacy,don't like suckers hawking meNews reporters,some think they can talk for meLies,misquotes,changin' all my words aroundBut if I catch'em on the street they'll get beat downThey get money for hype-type publicityThey don't think twice,about dissin' meBut that's a mistake,with tha SYNDICATE you shoudn't messI hope those punk reporters wear vests!

PersonalTake that personal

Now the words I speak to some may sound radicalBut I'll explain,it's simply mathematicalYou diss,I diss,this is creates an equalYou reply to my diss,this is called a sequelI reply to your diss,this is called a battleNot intelligent,not very adultSo I don't battle,I just put heads outA straight line is always the direct routeI write lyrics clear,to leave no doubtDon't even have to say who I'm speakin' aboutYou know who you are,you just jealous'Cause you hear my records are million sellersTry to say I'm wack,out on the streetsWhile your whole crew is jockin' my beatsSee me on T.V. and in the papersSee me at a jam,and catch vapors!